Page 62 of Attractive Forces

I turn. It’s Jennifer’s dad.

I shoot a look around, but it doesn’t appear Jennifer accompanied her parents to church tonight.

“Thanks,” I reply.

My father approaches the table then, and Mr. Hayward straightens to address him.

“I was just saying to Logan here what a great game he played the other night. Your son has a fine future ahead of him.”

My father reaches for a sausage roll. “Hopefully, Logan’s hard work will be rewarded with success. But it’s all in God’s hands.”

God’s hands might be slightly full with famines and global warming and other more important things than my rugby career, but I decide not to point this out.

Moira Hughes approaches my father, and he stiffens. Moira is in her sixties and is doing an online degree in philosophy. She never fails to challenge my father on anything from his sermon that doesn’t make sense to her.

Mum jokes that Dad writes his sermons imagining God is looking over one shoulder and Moira is looking over the other.

I use his distraction to swipe a piece of shortbread.

“Interesting sermon tonight,” she says.

My father uses his napkin to wipe pastry crumbs off his top lip. “Thank you, Moira.”

“Though I was interested in your condemnation of sinners to everlasting hell. I thought the church preaches forgiveness and tolerance.”

“The church has to extend compassion to those who are sinning, to show them that God’s forgiveness is the key to their eternal life. But the sinners must repent,” Dad says.

The shortbread in my mouth feels like it’s swelling up to choke me. I swallow heavily, trying to get the chunks down my throat.

My father believes I’m going to hell for what Jake and I do together. There’s no way to escape that.

I stagger over to the church kitchen to get a glass of water. But even that doesn’t get rid of the lump in my throat.

I put the glass down and clutch the side of the counter for support.

“Are you okay, Logan?” Mum asks as she looks up from where she’s doing the dishes. Concern draws lines on her forehead.

“I’m not feeling that well,” I say.

When we arrive home,I head straight up to my room. There’s a message waiting on my phone from Jake as normal. I stare at his text. Then I scroll through the chain of messages we’ve sent each other.

How can Jake and I be wrong? Being with Jake is the closest thing to pure happiness I’ve ever felt. He’s one of the best people I’ve ever met. He’s everything my father preaches people should be—humble, giving, caring. And yet, if you believe what my father says, he’s been condemned to hell along with me.

And apparently, I’m the one condemning him to hell.

Before I can stop myself, I grab my phone and press call.

Jake answers after a single ring. “Hey, you okay?”

Just hearing Jake’s voice soothes something deep inside me. I press the phone tighter to my ear as if I can physically bring him closer to me.

“Logan? You there?” Jake’s voice has a thread of alarm. I don’t blame him. We’ve never called each other before, and now I’m not even speaking.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I manage to get out.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

“It’s nothing. Just my dad’s sermon tonight…” The words stick in my throat.